Tending to the Fire
by snelbyshyder
Summary: So this is a collaborative story that my best friend and I wrote together! She wrote the pieces from Nesta's POV and Cassian's are mine! If you like her writing, head on over to Tumblr and follow her @tacmc!
1. Chapter 1

I'd been standing outside his door for an hour.

The healer was in with him for the third time that week, examining his wounds, the damage that had been done to his wing. Feyre told me she would get me when she had word, but I wanted to hear it from him. I needed to know, from him, that he was okay.

Needed an excuse to see him again without seeming pathetic.

The door to the townhouse opened and the quiet _click_ of it shutting forced me to distract myself, to make it seem like I hadn't been standing there all that time. I quickly hurried across the hall to the study, where I grabbed a random book and sat, casually, in the chair by the window. Cassian had been staying at the townhouse since we returned from battle, considering he couldn't fly up to the House of Wind and he was still too weak to walk the side of the mountain.

The sound of her clearing her throat had me jolt upright and slam the book shut with a _snap_.

Mor was standing in the doorway in the most casual outfit I had ever seen her wear, a dark pair of pants and a matching, tight fitting shirt. It looked like something Feyre would wear while training with Cassian. I was forced to believe Mor borrowed it from her closet.

Neither of us said a word. She stared at me, and I glared back. She had never been too fond of me, and for a reason I could not put my finger on, I felt the same way about her.

"He's still with the healer," I said, after a minute of silence. "Been there for over an hour now."

She nodded, silently, and took a seat across from me.

Crossing my legs, I reopened my book and pretended to scan the pages. But, I couldn't focus. My mind was at battle, constantly arguing with itself. _He's fine_ , it said, right after it sang, _he'll never fly again._

"Interested in the history of Illyrian warriors?" Mor raised an eyebrow, motioning to the book I held.

I finally looked at the hard, leather bound cover. It was, in fact, the history of Illyrians in combat. Easily, I shrugged. "Considering I have been surrounding myself with them, I figured it would be helpful information."

Her eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips, and I had to force myself not to storm out of the room. Any minute. The healer should have been walking out his door at any minute. She had caught my lie. She knew.

My eyes drifted back down to the pages.

"He told me what you did."

I froze. I suddenly felt exposed, I suddenly begged for an escape. But, no one came, and I would not look weak in front of her. I slowly closed the book and set it on the table beside me, and met her stare. "Told you what?"

"About what you did for him, when you were the distraction for Rhys."

She did not need to go any further. I knew what she meant. I knew when she meant.

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I stood and brushed off my skirts. "I did nothing for him. Elain is the one who saved us."

I could have sworn her eyes grew misty, but she blinked, and they were clear, but she adverted them elsewhere. "You stayed. He couldn't move, and the King was going to kill you….And, you stayed with him. You covered him. You…protected him."

"He did not need protection," was all I said in return.

I turned away before she could see me blush, and rested my hands against the cool glass of the window. Nightfall would be coming soon, and the people of Velaris were beginning to come out of their homes for beauty of the night. I remembered lying on top of him and feeling his heart beat rapidly, then it growing weaker, and weaker. I remembered the way he wrapped his arms around me, and all my fear fading away the moment his hands met my body. I was not afraid. Not with him.

I remembered the way his lips felt against mine, and I shuddered from the memory.

"You would have died for him," she said, quietly, and it wasn't a question, but an awe-filled statement.

A compliment, I realized.

Either way, I didn't answer. I stared out the window, at the people, at the fading sun. I looked anywhere but back, anywhere but at her.

"Why?" she asked, at last.

I kept my face neutral as I shrugged. "You would have done the same."

"Yes," she agreed, "I would have. But, I've known him for most of my life. He is one of my closest friends. He is my _family_. You have only known him a short time."

I thought of Elain. I thought of Feyre. I thought of all the times I stepped in front of Elain, in front of her innocence. I would have protected her at all costs. I thought of when I went to the wall only a year ago. I was willing to walk into Prythian to bring Feyre back.

I would have died for my family.

My father….My father died for his.

Cassian was not my family. He was hardly a friend, he was just another person that I had learned to push away, to not let get too close. But, yes, I would have died for him. I felt a pull to him. I looked at him and felt as if I didn't see what everyone else saw. I didn't see the deadly warrior, although I had seen him slay on the battlefield. I didn't see the sarcastic asshole, although he surely was that. I saw someone else.

I saw strength. I saw beauty. I saw a survivor. And I couldn't stay away.

I couldn't picture this new life, this immortality, without him in it.

I didn't answer, though, I didn't even turn around. I wasn't sure what she expected me to say, but I couldn't meet her gaze, couldn't see the judgement in her eyes. Couldn't handle the emotion, the pain, as she talked about him.

I cursed him silently, cursed what he had done to my heart and my mind and my life. I had been waiting there, stupidly, as if he somehow felt the same way I did. Not that I would be worthy. I was not made for love, or whatever this was.

Growing up, I was told that a woman's purpose is to become of age and get married to a wealthy man. To bear children. To raise those children on the same principles. But, now I was immortal. What was love, a marriage, a relationship, in an immortal life?

What was anything in an immortal life? What things from my human life was I meant to keep close, to continue to cherish?

I didn't know what I wanted. I just knew I wanted him safe, and healthy. I checked the clock, an hour and a half. Why was she in there so long? My stomach began to churn, and I scolded myself as my heartbeat began to quicken.

"I respect you, Nesta."

The statement surprised me, the sound of my name on her lips. There was no judgement, no harshness. She was being sincere, and it caused me to turn.

"There is a lot about you I am unsure of," she continued, "but I respect you. Cassian cares for you. I think you know that. He watches you, and he speaks of you as if you are…." She shook her head and smiled, wistfully. But, her smile faded, and her features hardened, once more. "Do not lead him on. Do not hurt him. I have watched him been broken in more ways than one, too many times."

I felt like a child being punished for something I hadn't even acted upon. I meant to remind myself that I would say the same thing to anyone who was trying to court Elain, that she was protective of her family, but my anger consumed the thought immediately, erasing it from my thoughts. I snapped, "Why would I lay down my life for him if-"

The door opened, then, and I lost my words, my sense of thought. The healer smiled as she bowed her head to Mor, then myself, and dismissed herself.

Mor stood and gave me a polite nod before disappearing into his room and closing the door behind her. I opened my senses. His laugh filled my ears, and I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Good evening, Morrigan."

"Did she give you another tonic?" Mor sounded suspicious. "You sound loopy."

He mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like gibberish.

"Well? What's the verdict?" Mor asked, sounding far less uptight than she was with me. She was with him. Her friend. Her family.

"I'll be flying in a few weeks." His confidence reassured me as I sank back into the window and closed my eyes, listening. "Is she here?"

My eyes shot open.

Mor didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"I thought I felt her," he laughed, quietly, fondly. "She can't get enough of me."

I rolled my eyes. _Prick_.

"I think you're the one that can't get enough of her. The others should be coming soon," Mor went on. "Want me to help you downstairs for dinner?"

"I am perfectly capable of walking downstairs, Morrigan, remember who you're talking to."

"A cocky bastard? And stop calling me _Morrigan_ , it sounds weird coming from you."

As he laughed, I thought for once me and Mor agreed on something.

 _I respect you, too,_ I thought, _for being able to make him laugh like that. For loving him like you do._

Hearing his feet hit the floorboards, I hurried out of the study. I did not want to be caught ease dropping. I did not want to be caught waiting here like a pathetic, lovesick child. I shouldn't have waited this long. I should have just listened in when he was with the healer. Respect be damned.

Half way down the staircase, I ran into Elain. " _Oomf_!"

"Nesta?" Elain asked, holding her head, where my elbow made contact with bone.

"Sorry," I mumbled, taking in her confused expression.

"You look distraught," she observed, taking my face in her hands.

"I just need some fresh air," I explained, dusting off my skirts and straightening my back.

"Oh! Well, I planted some roses in the garden this afternoon. You should take a look before it gets too dark out. I just showed Azriel, he said they were like nothing he's ever seen." The look in her eyes made me look away, as if I was watching something too personal.

"I'll go see. I'm sure they're lovely."

She kissed my cheek and told me she'd see me at dinner before walking up the stairs to her bedroom to freshen up.

The frigid air made me gasp as I opened the front door. Although my new body took temperature change effectively, the chill was still a shock. Elain's flowers were beautiful, but I could not focus on them wholly.

I could not focus on anything without the image of brown eyes and large, spread wings in the back of my mind. I sat on the bench that stood in the middle of the garden and wondered what was happening to me. I wondered what this life would bring me, and if I would ever be fulfilled. I peeked back at the townhouse, and saw them gathering for dinner. I didn't even hear the others arrive, I was too lost in my thoughts.

Rhys and Feyre sat across from Azriel and a smiling Elain. Her smile put me a little bit more at ease. Then there was Mor, laughing at something Rhys had said. She respected me, she said. For staying. I couldn't have gone anywhere, even if I had wanted to. The thought never even crossed my mind.

He walked into the room, then. He looked around, then his eyes drifted out the window and connected with my own. He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows. A question.

His eyes did seem out of focus. A tonic, indeed. He smirked, and winked, and gestured to the chair next to his.

I scowled, and looked away. Back to the garden. Back to the roses.

I would go back into the house, sit among my family and newfound friends, and eat dinner in peace. I took a deep breath and rose to my feet. Head up high. Shoulders back. Face free from emotion.

I walked back through the front door, and into the dining room where no one said a word to me as I sat down, on the opposite end of the table than Cassian, and helped myself.


	2. Chapter 2

I couldn't get the image out of my head, even as I watched her eating from across the table. The sun shining down, lighting her hair up like liquid gold, making the blue-grey of her eyes smolder, surrounded by Elain's garden of roses. It was something I imagined Feyre would've liked to paint. For any other female, it would have been a picture-perfect setting. But not for Nesta.

Yes, the sight was as beautiful as she is, but this woman wasn't meant to idly sit in a garden and look pretty. She was a warrior and fire burned through her veins, even though she acted as if ice coated her heart.

I tried to pretend I didn't see the quick glances she threw my way all throughout dinner. I tried to pretend I didn't notice the way she hurried off to the study while we all gathered in the living room for a few drinks and to relax. I tried to pretend I didn't see her slip up to her room without so much as a "goodnight" to us all. I tried to pretend I didn't hear the way her door creaked open in the middle of the night, hours after I'd gone to bed. But most of all, I tried to pretend that I didn't hear her take three hesitant steps towards my bedroom before she changed her mind and descended the stairs.

It took me all of two seconds to decide to follow my warrior-hearted girl. Tossing my blankets to the side, I rolled out of bed and grabbed for my discarded pants on the floor. On an afterthought, I also reached for a shirt, and once I slipped the white tunic over my head, I stretched out my wings.

The dull ache was lessening every day. The damage this time was nowhere near as destructive as the first, but I knew I was still weeks away from flying.

As I tucked my wings back in, I recalled the moments that would be burned into my mind forever. First, the feeling of her lips pressed against mine, the look of pain and surprise in those brilliant eyes as I pulled away, thinking those breaths would be our last. I cursed myself a gods damned fool for not acting on my feelings earlier, for not proving to her that my actions and intentions were pure, but after Tomas… I didn't want her to think my affections, as sarcastic as I may be, were anything but genuine.

Second, the absolute terror as she threw her body over mine. I was destroyed, my wings snapped and broken, my siphons drained and empty. I couldn't move, couldn't get away. But she could. I would've fought to my last breath if it would've bought her even a second to run. But she didn't; she wouldn't. And when I felt her warm body cover my own, she ripped what should have been my last breath right from my lungs. But then I knew what she was feeling. If we were going out, we were going out together. So, I wrapped my arm around her waist and I clung to that fire that was Nesta Archeron as I buried my face in her neck, breathing in her sweet and spicy scent of mimosa and cypress wood one last time.

I opened my door and slipped out onto the landing. I glanced over the edge, only to find an empty living room. I headed downstairs, my bare feet padding lightly against the hardwood floors and pushed the kitchen door open, half expecting to find her leaning against the counter. I was met with darkness and I allowed the door to swing back shut as I headed into the dining room. If I couldn't find her, and I couldn't sleep, I decided I'd make myself a drink. As I crossed the threshold, my heart skipped a beat.

There she was, in the same spot I'd seen her in earlier, facing away from the house, sitting in Elain's garden. The double doors were opened to the night and the scent of roses, jasmine and lilies wafted in. I stepped out onto the veranda and leaned on the banister. The starlight lit her up in a way the sun had tried earlier, only to fail miserably. Her hair, set ablaze in the sun, was shimmering as it fell over her shoulder. Her skin shone, almost glowing in the pale light of the moon and stars. The pastel night gown she wore hugged her body in an elegant way, so different than what many of the women of Velaris wore in the more intimate moments of their life.

I wanted nothing more than to join her on that stone bench, but after taking the first step, I remembered her own timid steps she had taken towards my room. If she had wanted my company, she would have taken the last few to my door, but she didn't. She turned around and came down here, alone with nothing but her own thoughts, the roses and the stars. In a way, it was as if her sisters were with her. All that was missing from the symbolic trio of the Archeron sisters was Nesta's own fire. I turned, heading for the dining room and the decanter of amber liquid with my name on it.

"I know you're standing there, you brute."

I couldn't help the smirk that appeared on my face as soon as she spoke. I continued in the house, grabbing the bottle and not one, but two glasses, and made my way through the garden to where she was seated. The bench was just a slab of concrete with artful designs etched into it. It had no back, to ensure someone with wings could still comfortably enjoy the beauty around us. Sitting down next to her, I poured two knuckles of the drink in each glass. I offered her the first, expecting her to refuse, but she gently took it, resting it on her silk covered thigh. She didn't even look at me, her gaze locked on the sky instead.

She lifted the glass to her lips and as she took a sip, her brows knitted together as her nose scrunched up. But she said nothing as she took another and the set the glass on the bench beside her. I took a larger drink out of my own glass, feeling the burn in my mouth and my throat as the liquor flooded my body with warmth, so different from the chilled night air around us.

"I heard you'll be flying again soon."

I glanced at her. The glass was back in her hand, resting against the palm of the other. Her voice was laced with something I couldn't fully detect, yet it sounded like disappointment. "Probably not for a few weeks, maybe longer. I don't even want to attempt it until I know my wings are strong enough to support me." She swirled the contents of the glass around and stared into it as if it held all the secrets of Prythian.

"I suppose once you can fly, you'll be staying in the House again?"

It was then that I followed her gaze. She had been looking at the stars, impossible not to do in Velaris, no matter how hard you tried, but her eyes were locked on the mountain that contained my home. The rooms and halls that I'd lived in for 500 years, where I'd eaten and trained, even while Rhys was Under the Mountain. As I looked back at her, the emptiness in her eyes nearly broke me.

"I suppose," I said, leaning back on my hands and flaring my wings out in a wide stretch, the bravado I knew she'd come to loathe easing its way into my tone. "Why? Are you going to miss me?"

She snorted and rolled her eyes and I knew I'd achieved my goal. When she looked at me, the fire I adored had returned. "Not in the slightest. I was actually wondering when your room would be vacant. With my impressive salary, it seems I now have more clothes than before and have run out of space in my armoire. I was going to set up racks in your room."

I laughed, and even though it was near three o'clock in the morning, I didn't try to hide the sound. A smirk graced her own lovely face and we slipped into a comfortable silence as we sipped from our glasses. I decided to hedge my bets as I said, "You know, you still have a room up at the House, if you ever wanted to stay up there for a change of scenery?" She stiffened and I knew I'd made the wrong move. When she'd first been changed, she and Elain had isolated themselves up there. Once I'd been able to fly, I visited, claiming it was to work my wings, but in reality, I couldn't stay away. I was still figuring out this pull between us that left me feeling empty when I couldn't see her.

I downed the contents of my glass and was about to stand and leave her with her thoughts when she whispered, "What's it like? To fly?"

I almost brought up the trip she'd made from the House with Rhys, but I knew that's not what she meant. Her eyes looked wholly grey in the starlight as she looked at me and I glanced up into the night sky, my wings twitching with the instinct to take off.

"It's the best feeling in the world. The wind calls to Illyrians, the open skies speak to us in a language only we can understand. It's in our blood, and from an early age, all we want to do is soar. It's the feeling of being completely free."

I wanted to tell her how the takeoff would make your stomach drop into your feet no matter how many times you'd done it. I wanted to tell her about the feeling of the wind caressing your wings, like reassuring hands. I wanted to explain the rush of the freefall, but in the arms of someone you trust, the exhilaration and joy, and how badly I yearned to hear the peals of her laughter as my wings caught the updraft and we swept back up into the sky.

She shivered next to me as a chill wracked her body, and I placed a hand on her arm. For a split second, I marveled at the beauty of her lighter, soft skin next to my golden, calloused fingers. "Come on, let's get inside. It's freezing out here."

She nodded and we made our way back into the house. I returned the bottle to its home and took our glasses into the kitchen to be washed in the morning. The kitchen door swung closed and I was surprised to see her standing in the living room waiting for me. The house was silent as I stepped closer to her and lifted her face look into my own with a finger under her chin. I whispered, "What's going on in that head?" She only closed her eyes and shook her head and I let my hand drop, not wanting to push her any farther than I had tonight.

We made our way to the top of the stairs and I leaned on the railing, watching as she toyed with the lace on her nightgown that framed her breasts. "I'm thinking," she started, and I straightened to my full height as she quietly said, "I'm thinking about my place in this new world, and how I have no idea where that is. One of my sisters is a High Lady of Prythian and the other is a Seer. They both have a purpose, a role." She paused and I watched her hand fall to her side in defeat. "I'm thinking that as a High Fae, I'm just as unimportant as I was as a human."

I didn't try to stop myself as I took the few steps that separated us and wrapped my arms around this magnificently headstrong girl. She made no move to push away, but also no move to wrap her arms around me. I hesitated for a moment. We hadn't spoken of _that day_ since we'd returned to Velaris. My cheek was pressed against her hair and I breathed in the scent of her fire as I said, "You listen to me, Nesta Archeron. You helped save the world. You ended the King of Hybern. You separated his head from his worthless body and I have never seen anything so amazing in my entire, immortal life. When I roared at you to run, you refused and I have never been so angry, desperate and grateful at once. You threw your body over mine to protect me, when I should have been the one protecting you. I don't care if you never do another damn thing in your life. You are the most important person in this world to me."

Silence filled the corridor and I heard a faint sniffle before two slim arms slipped around my waist. She didn't have to say anything in return. I knew. I understood.

We stayed there, clinging to each other for gods know how long. When she finally made to pull away from me, I leaned back, not ready to give up the hold I had on this impossibly beautiful female in front of me. I wiped a tear from her cheek and she looked up into my eyes and I could finally see the truth. I could see the girl who had been left by her mother, hurt by her father, overshadowed by her sisters. She wrenched her eyes shut just as one last tear fell down her face. I kissed it away and let her go. "Goodnight, Nesta."

I turned and headed for my door, placing my hand on the knob, before I heard, "Wait." I looked at her and she looked so devastating in the candlelight that I had to keep from going and dropping to my knees before her. She looked over her shoulder at her own door on the other end of the hall before glancing behind me at my own. Her eyes met mine and the silent question was clear.

I opened my door and stepped to the side, allowing her entrance. As she crossed the threshold, I quietly shut the door with a 'click'. She surveyed my room, the maps and books on the desk, the armoire with its doors open, clothes hanging out of it and on the chair by the window. As she did, I removed my tunic and sat back down on my bed. It creaked and she turned, eyes going wide as she surveyed my bare upper half. It wasn't the first time she'd seen me without a shirt but I always got a thrill out of her wandering eyes. I settled back onto the pillows, opening my arms and she climbed on the bed, curling against me under the warm mess of blankets. I wrapped my arm around her as she laid her head on my chest. I felt her finger carefully following the lines of my tattoo and I pulled her closer. It wasn't long before I heard her breathing even out and with a careful glance, I saw she was out. Her stunning face was even more gorgeous in the peace of sleep. With a light kiss to the top of her head, I closed my eyes and drifted to sleep, holding onto the most important person in my life.


	3. Chapter 3

I had seen Cassian drunk before, but I had never seen him being carried by Azriel as he sloppily flung his legs around trying to break free. The Shadowsinger looked like he was not only annoyed, but struggling to keep the other Illyrian in the air.

He spotted Rhysand's townhouse and swooped low, dropping Cassian in the front lawn as soon as he got close enough. Cassian hit the grass with a soft _thud_ , and lied face down, unmoving.

Azriel turned around and halted at the sight of Elain and I staring at him from the bench in the middle of the garden.

Elain had her hands over her mouth, brown eyes lit with amusement, a soft giggle escaping from her lips. She was wearing a crown made of tulips that forced Azriel to smile, the soft pink of her flowy dress the perfect contrast to her golden-brown hair, spotlighted by the starlight.

I am confident that I did not look as amused, my navy-blue gown practically blending into the night. I blinked. "Is he dead?"

Azriel glanced back, then shook his head, returning his gaze to Elain. "One too many shots. He kept trying to punch me in the face, so I thought I would let him fall asleep before trying to fly him the rest of the way home."

Another groan from Cassian. I felt the tension in my shoulders lessen, letting go of a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Apparently, all you needed to do was drop him from ten feet up," Elain's giggle was contagious, even I almost smiled. Maybe I would have if Azriel were not there, looking at Elain as if she were the only good and beautiful thing Velaris had to offer.

Then again, perhaps she was.

"Apparently, it was," Azriel grinned, softly, as he inclined his head politely. "Have a good night. We'll let you two return to-"

"Leave him," I interrupted. I saw Elain look at me through my side eye, her eyebrows raised, but I ignored her. "I'll get him set up in the guest room. He needs to sleep it off."

Azriel opened his mouth to protest, but one look from me had him looking as if he wanted to blend into the shadows. He did not know me well, but at least he knew when not to push me. Smart.

"Call for me if you need anything," he smiled, longer at Elain than myself. "Rhysand and Feyre should be home soon, too."

"I think I can handle Cassian," I snapped.

"I know," Azriel nodded, kindly. "Will I see you at breakfast in the morning?"

I didn't bother answering, I knew who he was speaking to.

Elain rose to her feet, taking a step toward the Illyrian, who now had dark shadows dancing along his shoulders. "Of course. I am looking forward to it."

"Me too," he said, hardly more than a whisper, before shooting into the night sky.

I watched Elain stare after him, as he flew over the townhouses. I could have sworn he flew slower than usual, looking back to make sure my sister was still there. Elain blushed when she noticed me watching her.

"I think I'm going to go for a walk along the river," she said, unable to erase the joy that had consumed her. "I'll be back soon."

"Be careful," I warned, out of habit. She kissed my cheek before exiting the waist-high, white picket fence.

I watched after her until her pink gown disappeared into the streets before turning to Cassian.

I nudged his shoulder with my boot, earning a groan in return.

"Can you stand?" I asked, hands on my hips.

Cassian opened his eyes, blearily, noticing me for the first time. "N-Nes, sweetheart…"

My eyes rolled. "Come. Let's get you in bed."

He laughed, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. "Is that a…..uh…..invitation?"

"Prick," I mumbled, forcing myself not to laugh as I bent down and helped him to standing position.

He threw a sweaty arm around my shoulder, making me sway with his weight.

"I l-l-love it w-when you t-talk d-dirty to me," he winked, sloppily.

Jerking my face away from his, I gagged. "Your breath….how much did you drink?"

"D-D-Don't remember."

I almost laughed at the sight of the most dangerous Illyrian warrior in history, who probably couldn't even remember his own name in his current state.

I dragged him along, up the front steps, and into the silent townhouse. He stumbled up the stairs, at one point almost taking me tumbling down with him. Once we reached the guest room that I was currently occupying, I sat Cassian on the edge of the bed and pulled the blankets down.

When his head found the pillows, I unlaced his boots and placed them gently on the floor before I pulled the blankets up to his chest. Once he was comfortable, I followed the luminous faelight into the washroom, where I took a long, hot bath and changed into my nightgown. After pulling on my robe, I exited into the bedroom with a warm, wet cloth.

I was surprised to find him awake, resting with his hands behind his head. His eyes were still distant, but I could tell that he was sobering up. I handed him the rag, "I thought you would want to wash your face."

I didn't bother to let him know that I was going to wash him off, attempt to remove some of the sweat and stench and dried blood across his forehead as he slept. He took the cloth, gratefully, and ran it over his face, his arms.

"I'm in your room," he stated, softly.

I nodded, discomfort causing my stomach to drop. "It was a long walk home. You were giving Azriel a rough time."

A small chuckle. "Ah. Thank you."

A tight nod. "I will see you in the morning."

"Where will you sleep?"

I froze midway to the door, pulling my robe tighter around my shoulders. "Elain's room."

When he said no more, I continued, but when my hand felt the knob, his voice stopped me, again.

"I think about it often."

"About what?" my voice accidentally came out a whisper, but he had heard.

"Those who've died."

When I turned to face him, he was watching me, pain in his eyes. He had propped himself up, into sitting position, and had tied his hair into a knot at the back of his head. I couldn't move at the sight of him. Mourning. He was in mourning. A beautiful, broken warrior.

My heart ached as I breathed him in from across the room.

"I have been in battle often enough that it would seem like death wouldn't bother me," he paused. For a moment, I thought he was going to vomit, but he took a deep breath, swallowed it down, and continued, "But it does. Every warrior that does not come home….I remember them. I think of their faces. I think of their names. I think of their families, how long they have to live without someone they love - their friend, their brother, their sister, their son, their daughter. And, I-"

He shook his head. I knew the feeling, he couldn't say anymore, not without breaking down. He took his hair down and ran his fingers through his shoulder-length locks. A nervous habit. One he did, rarely, when his confidence was low.

"It's not your fault," I said, because I didn't know what else to say.

"It is, Nesta, it is," he said, eyes watering, unashamed of crying in front of me. "I'm the one giving the orders. I'm the one leading them to their deaths."

I took a deep breath, and thought about my next move. I wanted to run to him, to grab his face in my hands and tell him how stupid he was being, that he could not possibly blame himself. That it is the nature of war, that they knew what they were getting into. I wanted to kiss him, again, to show him that my idea of him had not changed once the war ended. I wanted him to know his goodness, his kindness, his beauty.

But, I could not force myself to say any of those things. They felt too personal, too revealing, too real. Instead, I sat next to him on the bed, and laid my hand on his.

His eyes snapped to mine, becoming clearer as the minutes passed, surprise forcing his lips to part, slightly.

He knew. He knew what I meant by such a small gesture, he knew all the things I had wanted to say just by my touch alone. He knew, because he knew me.

"Thank you," he said, softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my pointed ear.

To my surprise, I did not flinch. I let myself enjoy it. I let myself want more.

I let a small piece of my wall drift away.

Until Cassian froze, and my body turned rigid.

I cursed myself for letting him touch me, for showing too much vulnerability.

But, it was not me, I realized, as Cassian's face paled and a green tint brushed his cheeks.

Before I could ask him what he needed, he was sprinting to the washroom, and the sound of retching filled the silence.

When I finally decided to follow him in, Cassian's head was bent over the toilet, his eyes watering and sweat beading on his forehead. I couldn't help but watch the way his back hunched over, how his muscles tightened through his wet, ivory tunic; how easily his tattoos were seen through the thin fabric.

"You don't need to see me like this," he told me, voice hoarse, before vomiting profusely. I did not flinch as he attempted to stop himself, and continued once he could catch his breath, "it's pathetic."

"Yes," I agreed, without hesitation, "it is."

Nonetheless, I went to stand behind him, my feet on both sides of his kneeled legs, and took his hair into my hands, keeping it out of his face as he heaved again.

When he was finished, I handed him a glass filled with water, and as he was rinsing out his mouth, I drifted back into my bedroom. A minute later, Cassian stopped in the washroom's doorway when he found me lying in my bed. He hesitated, so I motioned him over.

"I won't bite," I made an attempt at humor, and instantly felt ridiculous.

"I might," he smirked, but his heart was not in it. He flinched, holding his head in his hands.

"Come sleep, Cass," I whispered, moving over to one side of the mattress.

He obeyed, without another word.

As he pulled the blankets over us both, and rolled on his stomach, I slowly rubbed his forehead with the tips of my fingers, then moved them into his hair.

He moaned, softly, closing his eyes. In less than a minute, his breathing evened, but I didn't move, I didn't leave, I laid next to him, my abdomen almost touching his arm, my breasts almost touching his shoulder, and rubbed his head.

If he brought it up tomorrow, I would deny it. When he smiled at me from across the breakfast table, I would still roll my eyes. If he asked me out to dinner for the fiftieth time that week, I would say no, and make him beg for it a few more times before I maybe, _maybe,_ said yes.

I looked down at the male, at the innocence in his face while sleeping. I brushed my thumb over his jawbone, over the faint scars that lined his cheek, his nose, his throat.

He was sarcastic, and rude, and obnoxious. He was dangerous, and deadly, and far more at guilt than I had ever realized. He was genuine, and kind, and beautiful in every way.

I watched him for hours, the only light coming from the open window. I watched him until long after I heard Elain return, with Feyre and Rhysand in tow. I watched him even after I retracted my hands, and moved a foot away to the edge the mattress. I watched him until the night sky turned into a deep purple, then a soft pink with bright streaks of tangerine. I watched him until I saw him stir, as light poured into the room.

I watched him until my anxiety consumed my feelings, and I had made sure I was gone before he could wake. And, even then, from across the hall in Elain's room, I listened to the beating of his heart, to every breath he took, to the way he called my name, wondering where I had gone, the moment he woke up.

I closed my eyes, feeling my heart be filled with something I had never felt before as I heard him call, "Nesta? Nesta?"


	4. Chapter 4

As Rhys slammed his knee into my gut, I groaned, but stayed upright. This was not the type of fighting we usually used while training. This was primal and instinctual and for the first time in my life, I didn't care if I hurt my High Lord. Before I even got out of bed, I knew today was going to be strange. There was a hum in the air that had the hair on the back of my neck standing on end and had me fighting the urge to take to the skies and soar. But it wasn't unpleasant. It was exciting and sensual and foreboding and raw.

It had been a few weeks since I awoke in Nesta's room to find the other side of the bed empty. Cursing the drink that had me on my hands and knees in front of the toilet, I gave Nesta her space. I took to the skies, much to the healer's dismay, and had Rhys winnow all of my belongings into my old room. As I leaned on my desk, my things began to appear and I heard the telltale clatter of a pen on my desk. Knowing Rhysand was able to winnow things in absolute silence, I rolled my eyes and sat at the desk. Before me, I found a piece of paper that read, _"Running from battle, Commander?"_ I crumpled the paper into a ball and chucked it into the fire, leaving the pen where it laid.

I wasn't the one who was running. I wasn't the one who had slipped from my bed before the sun had risen. I wasn't the one who had left me in the guest room to hide her feelings behind her sister. I wasn't the one who couldn't get it through that stubborn, thick, beautiful head that she doesn't have to heal from the war alone.

Before I could think about my actions, I opened my window and launched myself out, needing the feel the pull of the wind on my skin and in my hair. My wings strained as I caught an updraft and soared higher and higher. The taut muscle was still healing, but I didn't care.

My wings pulled tighter and tighter, the tendons feeling as if they were about to snap as I flew as high as I could. Who cares if my wings were broken? They'd almost been taken from me twice now. Without my wings, I would just be Cassian. I wouldn't be the Commander of the Illyrian Legion. I wouldn't be General of the High Lord's Armies. Just Cassian. And who would care about "just Cassian"?

I banked to the right and caught another gust of wind, pulling me higher. The House of Wind was just a speck on the surface at this point. My wings were such a fragile, yet fundamental part of every Illyrian, but more so of me than any of the others it seemed. They'd almost been destroyed. I had almost been destroyed.

I snapped my wings shut and felt the force of the freefall hit me in the stomach. I wasn't sure how high Feyre had been when she took down the Attor, but I was positive I had been at least a couple hundred feet higher; I saw what that fall had done to its hideous body. The mangled corpse barely existed, just a few, distinguishable bones in the splatter of gore it left behind. As I came closer and closer to the ground, I wondered what would be left of me.

 _STOP!_

I flung my wings out and soared upward, less than 50 feet from one of the cobblestone streets. After a moment, I landed on one of the open balconies of the House of Wind and I looked around frantically. I was the only one there, as Azriel had been on a mission and Rhys, Mor and Feyre were at the Court of Nightmares.

That voice, that one word. It had been clear as day inside my head. It had been as if someone shouted it directly into my ear, and I was powerless to disobey it.

My wings were beginning to slump behind me after being pushed to the limits after such disuse. I vowed to never get like this again, to allow myself to be absent from the skies for so long that it messed with my head and even seemed to mess with my heart.

I avoided the Townhouse after that day. I told Rhys and the others that it was because I had so much catching up to do after the war. I told myself it was so I could give my wings more time to heal, that I had pushed myself too hard before I was ready. I asked one of the others to winnow me to Illyrian camps once or twice a week to check on the rebuilding processes and on the trainings of the females.

After the war, after we had lost so many males, after fathers and brothers and sons didn't make it back from the battlefield, more and more females came forward to train. And the more the females stepped up, the more the camp leaders saw that they could postpone their training no longer.

Mor often came to the camps with me, to watch the females train. When necessary, she would step in and coach. "Sometimes," she'd told me, "a technique that works with the brute strength of a male will impede the quick reflexes of the female." I'd agreed and left her to it while I went off to speak to the leaders.

But today, as I walked into the kitchen, I was not met by just the faces of my High Lord or Lady, or by the face of the Morrigan. But also of Nesta Archeron sitting at the breakfast table with my brother, both of them hunched over a book. I could see Azriel's wing twitching as it often did when he was trying to sort something out for himself. He glanced up giving me a quick nod of greeting which I returned. I took all of three steps into the room when Nesta glanced up at me, giving me a full view of that beautiful face, of her spectacular eyes, of her sensual lips -

The breath was ripped from my lungs as my eyes locked with hers. The room became a blur and all I could see was her and her strength and beauty and the fire that is Nesta. The unmistakable thread that has been pulling me towards her from the moment I saw her as a human in her father's home went taut. The urge to gather her face in my hands and claim her lips with my own was almost too much to bear. When I could finally breathe again, her scent filled and consumed me. My eyes traveled over her hair, her lips, her breasts, her hips, her hand resting on the table. And Azriel's hand lying next to it on the table.

"Cassian, what are you-?"

I lunged, wings shooting me forward, my fist flung out, ready to make direct contact with my brother's jaw. But the eyes of my High Lord appeared in my sight and, grasping my tunic, he winnowed us to the roof.

Without missing a beat, his knee slammed into my stomach, attempting to make me double over, but I barely felt it. My siphons were flaring, throwing a red hue over everything in the ring. I slammed into Rhysand, using my strength in place of the techniques that had been drilled into my head. Thanks to that, after we each got a few blows in, he was able to have me pinned fairly quickly.

"You have got to get control," he said, calmly but firmly. I was beyond words. He couldn't understand what I was feeling. Seeing another male, Azriel of all people, so close to her, so close to feeling her luxurious skin on his own… I thrashed and his fingers began to feel like cold claws on my wrists where he pinned me. There were whisps of darkness floating around us and his canines were elongating, very close to my throat. My strength was greater than his, but he was willing to transform into the beast he hated to keep me in control. "If you think I'm even going to let you get near your mate like this, you are dead wrong."

Mate. My mate.

" _Yes, your mate, Cassian_." His lips didn't move because at this point, he spoke directly into my head. " _I saw the look in your eyes. I didn't even need to check your thoughts._ "

Mate. Nesta.

Nesta was my mate.

I stopped fighting and I felt Rhysand's grip loosen as his hands shifted back to normal. He leaned back, standing over me and I sat up, my hand immediately grasping at my chest, where it felt like a physical tug was pulling me down to the kitchen, down to her.

Down to my mate.

"She's mine," I whispered, standing. He nodded. "And I'm hers." He didn't nod again. He merely looked at me. "What?"

"I don't know if the bond has snapped into place for her."

It was as if my stomach dropped into my feet. The need to be with her was already so strong. The need for her was already growing, the need to claim her and make her scream my name. A growl ripped from my lips of its own accord.

With a swift punch to my chest, Rhys said, "I'm serious. I'll send you to an Illyrian camp until you think you can control yourself. I had to do it for months."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The need to be near her was still there, as was the urge to keep her away from other males and to take her and stay in my bedroom for a long, long time, but it was more of a whisper in the back of my head compared to the yelling at the forefront it had been a moment ago.

Opening my eyes, I met those of my High Lord and nodded. "I'm good. I can handle it."

His dark eyebrows rose. "You're sure?"

"No," I laughed. "But have I ever let that stop me before?"

With a laugh, he clasped his hand on my shoulder and led me back down the stairs, towards the kitchen, the heart of my home, and towards my mate, the new home of my heart.


	5. Chapter 5

I sat on his bed, a small, light pink box in my trembling hands.

Earlier that night, the atmosphere around the dinner table was strangely uncomfortable.

Cassian kept looking at me, an emotion that I could not quite grasp brewing in his hazel eyes. I hadn't spoken to him much the last few weeks, after I snuck out of bed with him just before the sun rose. I hadn't had the courage to. I think he took it personal, and maybe it was. It was nothing against him, though. He was only ever good to me.

That was the issue.

I was the issue.

The rest of our group ate in silence, tossing around a lame joke every now and then. I tuned them out. I scarfed down my beef roast and vegetables and pushed my chair back, hastily, before excusing myself. Feyre called after me, but I pretended I didn't hear as I shuffled down the hall and through the front door.

Fresh air always helped when my anxiety was high. Fresh air, and Elain's garden.

Lying flat on my back among the dirt and roses, I closed my eyes and took a series of deep breaths. Not long passed before two beings, reminding me of late nights spent reading stories under the blankets in our cottage, lied on both sides of me. I let them take my hands before I acknowledged their presence.

"He was looking at me strange tonight," I admitted, quietly. "His eyes were full of longing, but he also seemed agitated. I don't blame him, I suppose. He has every right to hate me. Maybe I've been unfair to him."

I loved how close my sisters and I had become. I had never been good at opening up, but I was trying. For them.

They glanced at one another, earning a frustrated grunt from me. "Will someone tell me what's going on?"

"We can't-"

"Elain, she needs to-"

"No, it is not up to us to-"

"You of all people should-"

"Just because you would have wanted someone to tell you, _Feyre_ , does not mean-"

"You don't need to talk to me like I'm a child, _Elain_ , I am your High Lady-"

"There you go, pulling the _High Lady_ card again. I'll have you remember that I helped change your diapers-"

"Hush!" I jolted upright, rubbing my temples. "One of you better tell me what's happening before I show off some of the training Amren has instilled in me in the last few weeks."

The two glanced at each other once more, before Elain opened her mouth. "You don't need to accept it. Remember that. Don't feel pressured, don't let it distract you. You don't need to even acknowledge it right away. Just because it snapped into place for Cassian doesn't mean-"

I stopped listening. My ears began pounding, ringing, as the blood rushed to them, and my face began to pale. "What snapped into place for Cassian?"

I already knew the answer, of course, I wasn't stupid.

They knew it, too, because neither answered.

"Nes-"

I held up a hand, cutting Feyre off. "I need a minute."

My little sisters watched me pace back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I hiked up my skirts, annoyed at how they _swished_ around my ankles. The words were running through my mind, _He's my mate, my mate, my mate_ , and I felt the truth of those words.

I felt the love, the passion, the honesty, the desire for him, and I hated myself for it.

Elain broke the silence. "What are you thinking?"

I shook my head, raking a hand through my loose hair. "I don't know. What am I supposed to feel? How am I supposed to feel?"

Feeling bad that I snapped, I apologized to Elain before plopping myself in the grass.

"You're scared," Feyre said. It wasn't a question, so I didn't answer. "It's okay to be scared, Nesta."

"I can't accept it," I said, wistfully. "I can't allow the bond to….to…." I trailed off, unsure of what I was going to say.

"Would it be so bad?" Elain asked, inching toward me. "To have that with Cass?"

No. "Yes. To love someone, especially to that extent, is weakness. It's vulnerability. It's setting yourself up for heartache, and misery. I can't. I won't."

They didn't argue. Instead, Feyre took my face in her hands, and smiled. Just as she always had, she was taking care of me. "We are not blind. We know you better than anyone. We see how you look at him when you think no one is watching. I know how you feel, and it's okay to feel those things. You don't have to accept the bond. You can ignore it, or you can deny it, but if you love him like I know you do….would it be so bad? To have that with Cass?"

I blinked back tears, and that was answer enough for her. My sisters wrapped me in their arms under the starlight of Velaris.

After a minute of listening to the whistling of the wind and the chirps of the crickets, I sighed, "What now?"

Then, less than an hour later, I found myself in his room.

I had expected him to be back by then, but he was nowhere to be found. Sitting on his bed, and feeling ridiculous, my panic grew as I waited.

Deciding that looking around would take my mind off him, I found my way to his bookshelf. There were no books, which was to be expected, but what I found made no sense to me. There was a painting of a snowy forest, a dingy necklace, and a series of knives and daggers. The last thing I saw made me freeze, made the breath escape my lungs and stare in awe.

A ribbon. My ribbon.

I gathered the strip of blue silk between my fingers. I had no idea he had it. I hadn't even known it was missing.

"I didn't steal it, if that's what you're thinking."

Twirling around, I realized I was not at all prepared for the male standing before me.

He had been training, it seemed. I found myself staring at the warrior, his sweaty chest gleaming in the faelight. His pants were hanging loosely, low on his hips, a tattoo trailing down his side and disappearing beneath his waistline. Cassian crossed his arms across his chest, and when he realized I wasn't going to respond, he lazily raised an eyebrow. "Interesting of you to show up here when you've been ignoring me for the last month."

"You've been ignoring me," I snapped. "If you wanted to talk to me, you should have."

"Always blaming it on me," he chuckled, shrugging his broad shoulders. His wings fluttered behind him, a sign of his agitation.

I took a deep breath and held up the ribbon. "You kept this."

"Yes," he said, simply. "You left it in the library."

"You could have brought it back to me," I whispered as a small voice inside my head whispered, _Stop wasting time_ , _get on with it._

"It reminds me of beauty," he replied, and my heart shuddered at his words. "Of all the good things this world has to offer."

Turning my back to him, I nodded. "What about this?" I picked up the necklace, admiring the ruby that hung from the chain. "Who is this from?"

He laughed, breathlessly. "Jealous?"

Scowling, I placed it back where it belonged.

He chuckled, softly, as he came up behind me. I could feel the heat radiating off his body as he spoke, "I found that on the streets when I was a child. Someone threw it away, and I thought it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. One man's trash is a bastard boy's treasure."

"You kept it," I blinked. "After all this time?"

"Yes."

"Why?" I turned to him to find him studying me, curiously.

He shrugged, again. "I have a hard time letting go of certain things. That shitty piece of jewelry is one of the only things I owned as a child."

"You shouldn't swear in front of a lady," I scolded.

"I gave up on manners a few hundred years ago," he winked.

Rolling my eyes, I opened my mouth to ask about the painting, but he cut me off. "Why are you here, Nes?"

I hated when he called me that. Hated it, because it made me happy, because it did things to my insides that I didn't think were possible.

Closing my eyes, I decided to get it out before I lost it, before I ran out his room and never looked back. "I'm stubborn. I'm stubborn, and I'm not always the nicest person, and I'm working on that, but I just can't help it. I am a mess, and for some reason, you seem to like that. You're kind to me. You protect me. You even make me laugh. I don't know why you didn't tell me about the bond, but I know. I know, Cassian, that fate or destiny or whatever the hell it is thinks were made for each other….and that terrifies me. I'm scared. I'm scared to give myself to you. I'm scared to let you in. But, I would rather be completely terrified than lose you."

When he didn't say anything in return, I kept rambling on, unable to stop. "I was prepared to die for you, and I would have been okay with that ending. I wouldn't have regretted it in the afterlife. So, if you think that I don't-" my voice broke, but I went on anyway, letting the tears flow freely. "If you think I don't love you, you're even stupider than I thought. Yes, I've been ignoring you. Yes, I've been running away. But, I don't know how to feel these emotions. I don't know what to do with them. I don't know how to handle them. I need your help. I need- I need you, Cass."

His eyes widened with every word I spoke, his love and adoration written plainly on his face. I knew I was crying, pathetically, and I tried not to look embarrassed. I held my chin up high as I took a step around him, and grabbed the box off his sheets. I lifted the lid, and he laughed at the display of cookies from the bakery down the street.

"Feyre said I'm supposed to offer you food." To my dismay, I began to laugh with him. "I can't cook, and I know these are your weakness."

After grabbing a chocolate chip cookie, and taking a bite, he grabbed the box from me and sat it back down.

"You're my weakness, Nesta Archeron."

I didn't fight him as his fingers grazed my cheek, and he brushed away my tears. I didn't fight him as his lips pressed softly against mine.

I didn't fight him as he pulled me against him in a sweet, gentle embrace, and whispered into my ear, "I love you, too."

I saw it, then. Our life together. The memories we would make, the love we would experience together. Children, a house on Velaris' countryside, traveling and laughing and feeling _joy_.

I didn't fight him as we stopped being Nesta and Cassian, and became one.


End file.
